Welcome Home, Son
by Katowisp
Summary: Loki Comes Home. (Happy ending to Fairytales. Don't read if you like where it ended)
1. This Meager Life

Eulogy

_When I die_

_I hang my head beside the willow tree_

_When I'm dead_

_Is when I'll be free_

Loki stood on green fields that smelled of spring and fresh grass. The sky was a soft blue, heralding the beginning of a new day. A soft, pre-sunrise wind ruffled his hair and kissed his cheeks, and for the first time in his life, Loki felt at peace.

Half his heart was missing, and the part that remained... hurt. Loki knew he couldn't be happy here.

Valhalla stood tall on the knoll; ornately carved pillars stretched high, and the walls, made of marble, were carved with intricate friezes depicting the heroic deaths of all those that gathered inside.

"I am dead," Loki said aloud, as if by doing so would make it more real. "I am in Valhalla."

The doors swung open slowly with a heavy groan as the wood creaked against iron hinges. Music and laughter floated out.

Loki could just see inside.

The hall was lit brightly with natural light that filtered down past dust that sparkled and danced in the air. No matter how much he craned his neck, he could not see those who waited inside.

As he grew closer, the marble floors gleamed with a soft shine that reflected the ceiling and the walls. Loki could barely see the end of the great feasting table: it was far away, tucked inside the bowels of the hall, but he _could_ see a golden-haired man laughing and raising his goblet to a toast, though his words were indecipherable.

Loki stood at the threshold of uncertainty. He had never expected to find himself in the great warrior hall. He had taken a gamble and it had killed him; the thought didn't bother him as much as it could have.

He could still see the look of hurt and betrayal in Steve's eyes, hidden behind a mask of stoicism when Steve thought Loki had turned against them.

"I am not ready," Loki told the doors. "Give me time," he pleaded, but they were only doors, and they stood impassively before him.

Loki turned away and headed back down the field. The sun had just peeked over the horizon, the sky a faint purple in the east: the last stars of the sky fading in the west.

He meandered the golden fields, glancing up at the beckoning doors of Valhalla occasionally before turning away. If he had the courage, he knew he would be able to enter without fear or judgment. But because he found himself lacking, he could not gather the strength and instead settled down in the grass, hands absently playing with the blades. Loki wondered if he could stay here forever. He missed his brothers and his parents. He had hoped to see them wake, could rejoice in their life. It had been a fool's wish. His mother was dead, and he'd not see her again.

Everyone knew women headed for Folkvangr, and they'd not carouse with men. Not when there was a war to prepare for.

And although he'd defeated Jörmungandr, the war was not over and they may never have won at all.

Laughter floated down from the Great Hall, but Loki could not summon the will to enter it and relish in its reward. Guilt sat heavily on his heart and he wished he could go back to Steve.

To go home.

When the sun was midway through it's morning arc, Loki noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. He watched as an elegant figure in flowing skirts crossed the fields of Valhalla, and when she grew closer, the form and fit of the woman was familiar, but for he unlined eyes and broad smile.

But he knew her all the same.

"Mother," he whispered, and he pulled her into his embrace. Her thin arms wrapped around him, and he felt joy well in his heart. Death wouldn't be quite so lonely with his mother at his side.

She smiled warmly at him.

"My son," she said, settling her head on his chest. "I expect you are surprised to find yourself here."

"Yes," Loki admitted. "I did not think I was worthy."

"You saved the world. It is a worthy enough deed."

Loki hadn't been interested in the world.

"Steve was going to die."

"He was willing to die for the world," his mother said, running delicate fingers through his hair. "Were you?"

"No," he said honestly. "I don't care about that."

_I only cared about Steve._

"Saving the life of one person is saving the thousand million worlds they had inside them," his mother said, slipping her bare feet into the clear creek that bubbled before them, and Loki was reminded of the time Steve had braved the tumultuous waters of Alfenheim to see Loki through, and his heart pulled at him painfully.

"Here, sit with me," his mother urged, patting the grass at her side.

Kicking off his boots, he settled his feet into the water beside his mother. He was careful to swing his cape behind him: knew from experience that the cloth took forever to dry, and he wasn't keen on sitting in the afterlife with a soaked cape.

"I missed you," he told Frigga, and he leaned against her, happy to feel her warmth against him. He thought he'd never feel it again, and to be able to do so now was almost worth everything. He'd be happy to sit here for eternity, if not for the hurt in his heart.

When the sun was low in the sky, and the frogs had begun singing in happy melody, Frigga turned to her son.

"You can stay here, if you'd like. You never have to enter those halls."

Looking up at the gates of Valhalla, Loki thought he'd like that very much. There was no place for him in those gilded halls. He'd sent enough off the gods there to their deaths, and he knew there was no place for him at the feasting table.

"Did you know this would happen?" Loki asked, when the full moon shone high above them, reflected as a silver ribbon in the bubbling creek.

"Of course," Frigga returned mildly. "I've arranged for this eventuality since the day the Fates published their sagas."

"Have you been working in opposition to them since then?"

"I have to look after my children," his mother replied, and it answered everything and nothing, but he was satisfied with her reply all the same.

Looking back up at the great hall, and then at the moon, Loki came to rest his eyes on his mother's fair face. She was as beautiful as she'd ever been.

"Is there a way back?" He asked, because as much as he'd like to spend his death with his mother, he couldn't shake Steve's face from his mind. Steve's brilliant, expressive face, and it had been twisted in sorrow in Loki's last moments.

"Yes," Frigga said, turning her pale face to his. "You wish to go back for the captain."

"He came back for me."

She nodded, cupping her soft hand against his cheek, and if his face was wet and his eyes bright, she made no mention of it.

"My son," she said, "I love you as much as my blood-born, and I could never refuse you. Long ago, when the Fates wrote their wretched books and published them as truth, I told myself I would never love the bastard child Odin would bring back from his travels. I told myself I would never allow you to kill my eldest, and that is why I set across the world and obtained sworn oaths from every manner of creature and element.

"It took many years, and when I came upon the mistletoe, it said it would comply, but asked if I was interested in thwarting the Fates. I said, "Little mistletoe, you are little more than a parasite, how can you suggest such a thing?"

"It said, 'Lady, this is true, but it is because I _am_ so insignificant that the Fates have ignored me as they did the Midgardians. One day, your bastard son will come for me when you do not get my oath—thinking me too insignificant—so he can kill your eldest son, as the Fates have said he will.'

"'I cannot allow that to happen,' I said, but the mistletoe continued. 'Lady, I do not have your foresight. But time is a fluid thing, and although I will long be dead, my childern's grandchildren that live inside me even now whisper that there is one—an insignificant creature, same as myself—will come to thwart your bastard son, and that he may yet be successful.'

"'But I may still lose everything,' I answered. And the plant said, 'Yes, but if you do not accept my offer, you _will _lose everything.'

"And on that day I agreed to keep the mistletoe's oath unsworn in the hopes that one day, there would be a Midgardian that would save you from the Fates. Captain Steve Rogers was that man.

"Since the day that I learned there was hope for you, I knew your death was a possibility, and I began working with Hel to find a way to send you back to your beloved Midgardian."

Loki internalized his mother's story, and in that moment appreciated all her machinations and diligence in protecting her children. She'd always played the role of the dutiful, if somewhat mysterious wife, but she'd been the only one to orchestrate an alternate universe to the one dictated by the Fates, and Loki realized her efforts would largely go unsung.

He did not want to leave her alone, but he had ensured Steve's immortality, and he could not allow his bonded (_formerly bonded_, Loki reminded himself painfully) to live all his lifetimes bereft of companionship.

"How do I get back?"

"Your body was burned," Frigga said, smoothing her dress. "But your bones are buried beneath Yggdrasil, and the World Tree is giving you back your life now. Your flesh will be made anew from Yggdrasil itself—the dirt and the stones, and the sky it touches. When it has made you whole once more, you will travel its branches back to Midgard."

Loki knew what was coming next.

"I won't remember who I am when I arrive."

"No," his mother agreed. "And the Avengers will not know you live. Steve will not know."

"Then what good is it?" Loki bit back his frustration. "If I do not remember who I am, and they do not know I live?"

Frigga taped his chest where the invisible bond had once tethered him to Steve.

"Steve knows you. And you know him. The ones who have decided... they do not understand this. How can they? One day, you will find Steve, and you will remember."

"I severed that bond."

His mother laughed warmly.

"The World Serpent was great, but he only thought he had that power. Believe you me, my son, the great captain is still connected to you."

Loki grabbed Frigga's hand on his chest.

"I love you, mother, and I do not wish to leave you, but I cannot abandon Steve."

"Sweet child, I know this. He saved you once because he had been given a second chance and thought he owed it to another. He saved you twice because he loved you, and I cannot be angry at any who would show such affection to a child of mine."

"I do not love easily," Loki warned.

His mother laughed again.

"None of us do." She wrapped her hand around Loki's. "What do you say?"

"What about you?"

His mother nodded towards Valhalla. "Your father awaits. He was never a patient man, but he understands why we must talk."

Loki followed his mother's gaze up to the hall, and realized the young man with golden hair he'd seen was his father, unworn and untouched by time. He wished he could meet that man, to embrace him and apologize for all the heartache he'd caused.

"We'll be there, when it is time," she said softly. "The war is not yet over, and Odin has yet to fight. The Avengers may not win it at all—but that is the curse, and blessing, of being unchained from the texts of the Fates.

"I agree," Loki said, and Frigga nodded.

Clasping his hand in hers, they headed for the World Tree. In the loaming, they found Loki's body. It was cool and pale, but the great roots of the tree moved and touched him, and he breathed. When he stood, his mother was a shade, and tears gathered in her eyes.

"Good luck, my son."

He turned to enter the tree.

He was not sure how long he would be separated from Steve, but they were both immortal, and they had time.

He would find him.

A/N

Although condensed, I had enough people comment that I decided to go ahead and post the last bit of Fairytales and Other Forms of Suicide. If you liked where it ended, don't continue on. Otherwise, for the people with a penchant of happy endings: this one is for you.


	2. I Should Live in Salt

I should live in Salt

_Hey, let's look this in the eye_

_Cease this mind-wrapping of why_

_Don't feel guilt for troubled skies_

_I know it seems for miles the world's at end_

_But even in all this are naked trees greening again_

-Naked Trees, Me Like Bees

Tony tried to pretend that he didn't care about being part of a team.

It had never worked and the team knew it, but placated him all the same.

It didn't help that, regardless of all the money to his name, the multitude of projects he worked on and the charities he donated to prolifically, Tony's greatest desire was simply to belong. His father had never deemed him worthy, and he'd only been a money sign that grew too cumbersome to tolerate in the case of his surrogate father.

So, when Loki died, he had lost a small part of his adopted family, but he could never have guessed what it would do to the rest of his team.

Tony held a private memorial for Loki, and commissioned a plaque. They'd feasted after, as they'd done on Asgard, but when the feasting was over, after the memorial plaque on his terrace had lost its shine from a summer exposed to New York's sun, the repercussions grew worse.

Thor grew stormy and quiet. His escapes to Asgard became prolonged. And then, one day, he came back, face dark.

"Asgard is no home of mine without my brother." He said, and never went back.

For all of Thor's tantrums and violence during battles, it was Steve that had Tony worried most of all. Steve had always been a man out of time and out of place, but his journey with Loki had changed him. To Tony's surprise, Loki had had a knack of pulling Steve out of the funks he'd fall into if allowed.

With Loki's death, Steve was even more withdrawn than before, only appearing at the conference room when called for missions. He stopped cooking, a ghost in the tower that secreted away protein shakes and bars. He lost what little fat he had to spare, and whenever he appeared, his eyes were dark and haunted, his cheekbones too prominent against pale skin.

When he couldn't stand it anymore, Tony called a games night. Every Friday, unless there was a mission because, "Seriously, where else do you losers have to be?"

Pepper went in his place to the charity events that couldn't be moved, and Tony had JARVIS remind him an hour before the allotted time so he could clean up his latest project.

Tony entered the game room to see Clint with a small box.

"I've got a new game," the ranger said.

"What is it?" Bruce asked as he settled into his chair. An open bottle of beer, condensation apparent on the dark glass, rested in front of him.

"Cards Against Humanity," Clint said as he settled into his usual chair. Natasha settled in silently beside him.

"I thought we were playing Settlers of Cataan?" Steve asked.

"That's too much like real work," Tony groused, pouring a whiskey on the rocks.

"I like strategizing," Steve returned.

"Case in point," Tony fell into his chair, mindful to place his glass on a coaster. "It's not fun when you do it _every day_."

"You're sour because I always win."

"How is such a game played?" Thor interrupted. Tony glanced at him. Before, Thor had always been quick to join in on the team's banter: now he seemed to take personal offense to it.

Clint quickly explained the rules as he shuffled and dealt the cards. A pile of black cards in the middle was the prompt card, flipped anew at each turn. The judge shifted with each round, and it was up to the players to put down the most disgusting or disturbed responses that they could manage.

"Like a depraved Apples to Apples?" Tony said, glancing at his cards.

"Exactly," Clint grinned.

"Oh, I can get behind this," Tony sipped from his drink, glancing at Steve. Their leader was reading over his response cards, a look of revulsion on his face. Tony grinned into his drink.

Thor was a quick learner and tended towards the more violent responses. Bruce was surprisingly dirty and clever, and Natasha was sharp in her humor.

Tony chanced glances at Steve throughout the evening. He only won a single card, largely because he didn't know what it meant, and after several rounds, he threw his hand down.

"This is just awful. It's not entertainment."

"It's only a little fun," Clint tried.

"If Auschwitz and massacres are hilarious, then yes: it's fun. You all finish without me." He pushed away from the table and left the room.

An uncomfortable silence settled over the team. Natasha shared a look with Tony. Unable to look away from her piercing gaze, Tony frowned and set his cards down on the table.

"I'll go after him."

He brought his drink with him.

He found Steve in Loki's old room. Tony had left it untouched, and it remained as the demigod had last left it: painfully neat, except for the walls, which were adorned with Steve's sketches.

The captain sat in the dark, looking out over the city from Loki's massive window. His shoulders were slightly slumped, and he leaned with clasped hands against his knees.

Tony shuffled through a list of empty platitudes, and, finding them wanting, ended up just clearing his throat.

"Can I come in?"

Steve looked over his shoulder. Catching Tony in the corner of his eye, he gave a slight nod.

Tony remained awkwardly standing, afraid to disturb Loki's possessions. His bed was meticulously made, and Tony knew that if he sat on it, he'd disrupt the way Loki had left it. It was silly, but it seemed like desecration.

He couldn't remain standing, looming over Steve as he was. Gulping from his drink, he finally settled on the floor cross-legged beside his leader.

"We can play another game," Tony finally said, when the silence became unbearable.

"It's not the game." Steve wouldn't look at him. "Well, it _is_ the game, but it isn't."

"I'm glad we cleared that up."

Steve sighed, dipping his head to run fingers through his hair.

"It's this whole world."

"It's your world, too, Cap. It's the one you helped make. You seemed to be doing okay, before-" The words caught in Tony's mouth and he trailed off.

"I lost my best friend in my war. We grew up together. He saved me in a million fights, but I couldn't save him the one time it mattered."

At Loki's prompting, Tony had read the after action report of James Barnes' demise, knew it wasn't Steve's fault—knew that Bucky couldn't have been saved. He had his own file of "might have been's and knew that no one could tell him that if he hadn't done something just slightly different, it wouldn't have resulted in death or loss.

"This isn't about Bucky."

Steve gave a humorless chuckle.

"No, it isn't. But if I lost my best friend, you think I'd be all right with losing some jerk from another planet that mostly just gave me a lot of heartache and trouble."

"But?" Tony asked, because Pepper had been coaching him to _ask more questions_ and _make fewer snide remarks_.

"I was just so _angry_ at him. I thought he'd betrayed us—that he'd pulled some long con on us, on _me_, to get Ragnarök after all. And even though we shared a soul, even though we'd traveled through Hell together... I didn't trust him when he deserved it the most. He died thinking _I didn't trust him_. I can't make that right."

In the months since Loki's death, Tony had thrown himself into his work with renewed vigor to escape their last battle from playing on repeat in his head.

Tony had never shared a soul with another, felt it fair to say that most of mankind had never had. He loved Pepper, but she still stymied him. In his spare time, he toyed with the idea of creating a mind reading device so he could finally understand what was going through her head. The only reason that he hadn't was because he was fairly sure it would upset her.

Steve had bet so much on Loki's redemption, he'd given up his own love for him. Tony wasn't sure he could have made the same deal: was sure he couldn't. Now that he had Pepper, he could never give her up.

"Oh, I just Rick Rolled myself," Tony realized out loud with a scowl.

"What?" Steve looked at him.

"Never mind," Tony coughed into his hand. Steve nodded.

"How can I be a leader, if I can't trust my own men?"

"Loki was a very good conman," Tony ventured. "He had you believe exactly what he wanted you to."

"But I _should have known better." _Steve gave a look of such despair and loss that Tony didn't know how to respond.

"We're not easy people to lead," he finally said. "Bruce flies off the handle at the slightest provocation. Thor is a great fighter but a little too bullheaded, and while Clint and Natasha are pretty good at following orders, there is always a little bit of that wild card factor they bring to the table."

"And then there's you." There was a ghost of a smile on Steve's face.

"I'm sure I don't have to get you started."

"For a playboy, you can be really contentious."

"Women like the bad boy persona. All the songs say so."

Steve raised an eyebrow.

"Look, Loki—his own family had given up on him and you—"

"I don't need a spiel on how much I gave up for his redemption. I know it. I just—"

"We are all broken people," Tony said, startling Steve into silence. "You think normal people would carouse around the world in costumes, continuously putting their life on the line?"

Steve paused before slowly shaking his head. "No, but normal people don't have our powers."

"I can't pretend to know what you're having to work through here. I can't say, 'It's going to get better' because you've lived all of it, and it's hasn't gotten better. If I thought giving you all my money would heal you, I'd sign over all of it right now, but I know better than anybody that money is shit for bandages.

"But Steve," Tony met Steve'e eyes. "You're our leader and we need you. I wouldn't follow anybody else, so get it together, because we can't do this without you."

Steve looked at Tony for a long time. Tony could see when something shifted inside of Steve, and his eyes hardened. He stood, offering a hand to Tony. Tony took it, allowing Steve to heft him up.

"You're right. I can't wallow in self pity forever."

"We good?" Tony asked.

Steve clasped him on his back with an open palm and gave him a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Of course we are. I needed that."

"Back to the game? We can change it," Tony offered.

"No, this is my world now. If I'm going to live in it, I need to accept it for all of its crudeness. Bloom where you're planted," Steve's last words were said in weary acceptance.

"All right," Tony allowed a smile, but it was born of practice and photo shoots, and not from his heart.

0o0o0o0o0o

Steve made a concerted effort to become attached to his new world. He watched _Gossip Girl _and the _X Factor_ with slightly glazed eyes.

He read the _Times_ and the _Journal_ daily, and he ate from as many food stands as he could manage.

If he spent most of his evenings listening to old swing music and sketching drawings of smoky jazz clubs, nobody commented on it: least of all Tony, who appreciated the shades of black from someone who'd actually been there.

Clint made a concerted effort to draw Steve into his daily habits.

Bruce, with the patience of a saint, taught Steve how to use a computer beyond the basic peck and tap method he applied to the keyboard.

Natasha tried to take him to a "jazz revival" session at a nightclub. Steve had sat through one set before he'd left hurriedly, jaw clenched. Natasha followed him out to the street.

"Cap, you all right?"

"All the parts are there, but it's not the same," His face was pale, eyes haunted. "All it does is remind me of what I missed."

_I should be dead_ is what his eyes said, and Natasha grasped his hand.

"You didn't know it, but you were the first Avenger. You _are_," she amended. "What would we do without you?"

"I appreciate what all of you are doing. I survived before. I'll manage. Shawarma?" He asked.

"Sure, Cap. Whatever you want."

The next day, Natasha found Clint on the couch. She settled beside him. He glanced at her. "How was a night out with the Captain?"

"Truthfully? I think he's thinking about our mortality."

"We all die—" Clint shrugged before he realized what he said, his eyes widening. "Ah."

"He's been reckless in all our skirmishes. He's still a tactical genius, but he's taking risks he shouldn't. I think the idea of being left behind after we're all gone is wearing him down."

"Has Thor talked to him? I'm sure he can commiserate."

"Thor likes Stark. I'll plant the idea in his ear."

"Jesus, I can't even imagine," Clint muted the TV, his eyes distant. "I've sometimes thought, 'I hope I'm not the last one left.'"

"Tony is dyeing his hair. He's starting to go gray at the temples. I saw the box in the trash."

"His arc reactor won't keep forever."

Natasha sighed. "No, it won't."

"Fuck, when did we become such depressing people?"

Before Natasha could answer, the klaxon sounded, calling them to assemble.

0o0o0o0o0o

In April, the skirmishes started to resemble something closer to full-out battle. They thwarted a recon mission on Omaha and waylaid an attack in Seattle. Their opponents were gaining in number, and SHIELD was rallying forces as fast as they could.

Long gaps went between attacks, and the years built up.

0o0o0o0o0o

"Captain Rogers!" Thor boomed as he marched onto the terrace.

Steve had heard the doors _swoosh_ and JARVIS' warning, and was aware of Thor's entrance before his booming voice alerted him. He continued to water his plants, glancing up at Thor with a forced smile.

"Thor, what brings you to my garden?"

"A mighty garden, indeed!" Thor traversed the terrace. Over the course of the years, Steve had converted more and more of the open cement to raised gardens. There were the flower gardens, simply for his soul. There was an herb garden; an apple tree in the corner, and the rest of the terrace was largely dedicated to varying vegetables.

"You're not here to talk about my plants," Steve replied as he moved his watering wand to the Lazy Susans, startling several butterflies. They rose into the air with lazy flaps of their colorful wings.

"Indeed," Thor said, settling into a lawn chair. It creaked with his weight. He poured himself a glass of the lemonade that Steve kept on hand.

Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Thor had all the subtlety of a rock. Realizing the last part had been said in Loki's voice, he stilled for a moment.

In the intervening years, Thor had learned patience, and it was a full five seconds before he declared his real reason for encroaching on Steve's garden.

"Have you met my dear Jane?"

"Just the once," Steve turned to his apple tree. In a few more years, it would produce fruit. He'd bought a grafted variety from a nursery in Vermont who'd promised him he'd have Granny Smith and Honey Crisp and Pink Lady, and at least three other varieties.

"She turns thirty this month."

"What have you bought her?"

"I have come to ask you for advice."

Steve turned raised eyebrows to Thor.

"I'm not very good with women," he admitted.

"You know more about your female kind than I. I aimed to buy her a frozen yogurt machine, as she seems keen on the stuff, but Darcy said it was unacceptable."

"It is," Steve agreed.

"But why! Although she is not wanting for money, she eats the treat with enough frequency that I believe it would be a boon to her bank account." Thor said the last two words awkwardly, as if trying them out for the first time. "She already has a coffee machine. She says it saves her hundreds of dollars!"

"If Jane wanted a frozen yogurt machine, she'd buy it for herself."

"But she hasn't."

"Does she mostly go to the frozen yogurt shops when she is with you?" Sure that the apple tree had received enough water; he shifted his hose to the pumpkins. The wide leaves caught the water easily, wide droplets forming on the surface.

"I believe so," Thor hesitated. "I enjoy the candied treats one can deposit on the top."

Steve turned, raising an eyebrow at Thor. Thor looked back for a moment before realization dawned on his face.

"You believe she takes me to these shops for _my_ enjoyment!"

Steve turned back to his plants.

"You are a wise man, Captain Steve. What would you suggest I bequeath to her?"

Steve shrugged.

"Why don't you ask Stark? He knows women better than anyone."

"I did. He was quite... unbecoming in his answer. He said that from what he'd seen, a good romp in the bed would be enough to please her."

"Oh." Steve reddened. "Women like sentimental things," he ventured. "Something from a place you've been, or important to your family.

"Like dirt!" Thor declared at once, brightening. "My friend Sif gathers dirt from all the worlds she battled on. She has a shelf with her collected earth. Some," Thor confided, "Are stained with the blood of the enemy she's slain."

"Not dirt," Steve said quickly. "How much does this woman mean to you?"

"Everything," Thor swore, leaning forward on his chair. Steve caught the movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to watch Thor's face open in wonderment. "The sun is brighter when she is near me, the moon more brilliant. All the stars shine down on the world for us it seems, when she gazes at them with me."

"I saw a necklace, once. It was a sapphire studded with silver. It looks like the night sky. I saw it in Europe, during the war. I'm sure you could find someone—"

"Like the Dwarves?"

"Everything the Dwarves make comes with a price," Steve's face hardened. "Although I'm sure they'd be up to the task, you can find a jeweler here in New York who'd be able to make something for you."

"This requires your American currency, does it not?"

"You can have some of mine—"

"I am not asking for hand outs!" Thor interjected hotly.

"It's not a hand out." Satisfied that he'd wandered his plants well enough, Steve turned off the hose and settled into the chair beside Thor. Placing his elbows on his knees, he leaned in. "It's a loan. You'll pay me back. I have no living expenses, no rent or food to pay for. I have more than I know that to do with."

"I will pay you back," Thor swore, his eyes sparking.

"I know."

Thor's face broke into a smile, and he nodded. Steve wished he had Thor's guile. Emotions passed over him like storms passing over the ocean. It was a clear world he lived in, full of colors and absent of gray.

"You are a good friend and a better leader. I would follow no other into battle."

"Uh, thanks," Steve said, leaning back into his chair.

They watched the clouds together for a time then. The haze of a New York summer had settled on the skyline, but overhead, the sky was bright and blue.

"Asgard is beautiful, but it is Earth's briefness that loans it a brilliance Asgard can not hope to replicate," Thor said eventually. Steve looked at Thor in surprise. He sometimes forgot there was a man of depth that lurked beneath all his loud declarations.

"Hm," Steve agreed.

They sat on the rooftop, undisturbed, for the remainder of the afternoon.

They finished the pitcher of lemonade, moving to Steve's sun tea. As the sunset, Thor offered a jug of mead to complement the tea. Steve accepted it readily. While Earth's alcohol had no effect on either of them, Asgard's was a different situation entirely.

By the time the gloaming had set in, the Empire State building a shadow against a vivid array of purples, they were both thoroughly besotted and Thor blurted, "Jane will die."

Steve looked at Thor quickly. The god refused to look at him, staring out at the horizon.

"She has many years left," Steve tried, the words thick in his mouth. "She is only thirty."

"In fifteen years, she'll be middle-aged. That is a blink to our eyes."

Steve had seen Tony's temples before he'd thought to touch them up. He'd seen the hint of crows feet in Clint's eyes and the lines that grew around Natasha's mouth with each passing year.

In his time, the average life expectancy had been in the early sixties—barely even sixty for men. During his absence, it'd grown into the eighties. He knew his teammates had a few good decades left in them, but he was past ninety and immortal, and the time seemed insignificant now.

"I know," Steve said quietly. He'd only been back a few years, and in that time, he'd seen the damage of time in the faces of his teammates. With each wound, they grew a little slower despite their rebuttals.

Stark, most of all.

"I often think of my brother," Thor continued to refuse to meet Steve's eyes. "Although I understand his motives, I still think he was selfish in what he did to you. I knew your serum grew aged in your veins, but you were out of time and though you may have lead an extended life, you would have departed not long after the rest of the Avengers had taken the path to Valhalla. You are on my timeline now, and without Ragnarök, Valhalla shall never be reached less we fall in battle."

"A war is coming," Steve reminded him.

"This is true, but is many years in the making. What if our team is not alive when it arrives?"

Thor finally turned, meeting Steve's eyes.

"On Asgard, it is expected we shall fall in battle and meet our loved ones in Valhalla. A warrior's death: any should be proud... but Jane is no warrior. Where will she go if I am to fall? I believed, once, that an eternity spent with mead and the regaling of battles was a mighty one indeed. Now..." Thor trailed off, looking at Steve helplessly.

"You can't imagine an eternity without Jane," Steve provided.

"I am ashamed."

The brightest of stars were above them, the full moon low on the horizon. New York had always been bright, but Steve missed the stars that were now absent in the neon and fluorescent lights that never died.

"I miss my brother," Thor admitted as the moon rose.

"As do I," Steve admitted, with the mead of gods in his veins. _Liquid courage_ Bucky had called it, over seventy years ago, in a crowded club heavy with smoke.

"You changed him," Thor struggled to rise, his eyes bright and piercing. "I tried for over a millennia, and still he remained stubborn. You regaled us of your travels through Yggdrasil, but I know you kept much of it close to your heart. Tell me of my brother, and your journey on the mighty branches of the World Tree."

Steve did.

0o0o0o0o0o

"They want war," Steve turned to the team after he flipped Fury off with his most recent debrief.

The team stared back at him solemnly.

Pepper, in a fit of Christmas spirit, had decorated the briefing room in lights and garlands. Steve had offered to help, but he was tied up in reports and maps and Pepper said she understood. The lights blinked merrily and incongruently against the garland that ran the perimeter of the briefing room.

"His name is Thanos," Fury had told them. "He's searching domination of the universe. Loki was his envoy to Earth, and after he failed, he decided to regroup and amass forces before attacking us.

"It's not looking good. The X-men and Fantastic Four have signed on, and we're working on getting the rest of the world's forces to help."

"How's Hawkeye?"

"We'll inform you when his condition improves."

"Without Hawkeye, we'll need our long range capabilities more than ever. Black Widow, you'll be in the Twin Jet unless told otherwise. Stark-"

"Got it," Tony said.

"Thor, I'll need you on the rooftops. Manhattan has been declared uninhabitable. Still, we'll need to rebuild some day. Try and keep the destruction to a minimum. The Fantastic Four and X-men will help with the air battles. Cyclops and Wolverine have agreed to help with our ground-based operations."

Steve lapsed into silence, turning his eyes on each of the Avengers in turn, assessing them individually. At last, he turned his gaze away.

"Any questions?" he paused, and when none were presented, dismissed them.

As the team left, Tony fiddled until was the only one left behind. He stared at Steve with an intensity in his brown eyes Steve had never seen before.

Steve met his stare with a calm, blue gaze.

"Can I help you?"

Tony had begun to look his age but his eyes were still fierce.

"We need you in the war, if it's coming like you say it is. I know you miss Loki. I don't want to see any self-sacrificing heroics."

Tony hadn't touched up, and the silver was apparent in his temples.

Steve's laugh was almost a sob.

"You got it, boss."

0o0o0o0o0o

Steve shouted a command over the comm. Stark was intermittent in his responses. Most of the Fantastic Four were down for the count, and Natasha's jet had crashed into the Art and Space Museum. He couldn't dedicate anyone for a rescue mission, and he reverently hoped she was still alive.

Clint, still on the mend, had taken to a building. He'd gone silent ever since his tower had taken a direct hit, and Steve wondered if there'd be anyone left alive once the battle was through.

Washington DC was mostly in ruins. The Washington monument was broken off halfway, the Capital's dome had collapsed in on itself, and he'd received news that although the President had been safely evacuated, the White House was a smoldering ruin.

Whatever control Bruce maintained over the Hulk was gone, and the green monster raged through the ruined city, swatting at anything that moved.

He'd lost communications with the heliocarrier halfway through the battle, and was now operating only on High Frequency. One of Iron Man's boosters had been shot off, and his flight path was shaky and uncertain.

Thor's cape was tattered and he limped when he walked. Steve could feel the old wound in his back and the new ones across his body from where he'd flown through the old FBI building after a particularly brutal hit.

Steve spun as a Chitauri hit his headpiece. The world went sideways for a moment, his eardrum blown out. He could feel the sluggish drip of blood from his ear as he staggered to his feet.

The world was silent as his head sought balance. Israel had loaned what forces they could, but Pakistan and Iran were taking advantage of America's chaos to launch attacks against the Gaza strip, and Israel's position was precarious.

South Korea and Japan had bowed out before the battle had even started, owning to North Korea and China, respectively.

Steve hadn't seen Cyclops or many of the other X-men after the first wave, although a passing Doctor Strange assured him Wolverine was wreaking havoc to the aliens on their left flank.

The ground forces were formidable enough, but Steve knew that if he was going to do any real damage, he'd have to get to their transport carriers.

Looking for the last highest standing building, his eyes finally landed on the Pentagon. Its fortifications, before and after 9-11, had proved formidable, and though it was low, it was the best he had.

Finally finding the roof after a race through the twisting halls, lined with citations of America's greatest heroes, Steve stumbled to the top. He knew if he survived this battle, he'd need several days to recover from the wounds sustained. He'd left a trail of blood in the empty halls. Any other time, his blood loss would've alarmed him.

He knew, from the steady stream of blood down his leg, that he'd sustained something worse than just a flesh wound, and he had a growing suspicion that he'd managed to knick his femoral artery. Even with the serum, if he didn't allow a chance for his body to heal, he'd bleed out. His heart beat just as hard and fast as that of any mortal: he could just operate longer on less blood.

Eyes searching for Iron Man, he found him, one jet down, by the Archives. He was doing his damnedest to take out the most recent carrier that had been deployed.

"Ironman, do you read me?"

"Difficult, but I copy. Send it." Tony's voice was terse and pained.

"Before comm was cut off, Fury informed me Thanos had just reached the stratosphere. If you can get him there, we'll be able to pick off the rest of these guys."

"Oh, when you put it like _that_..." But Tony was up in the air, leaving a smoky trail in his wake. Steve watched him go, praying for him, before he looked at the countless number of transport carriers over the nation's capital. The number burning and crashing was infinitesimal to the number that remained in the area of operations.

Before he'd lost comm with Spiderman, the young man had informed him that a solid hit to the engine could take them down.

Holding up his shield, eyeing the closest ship, Steve let fly.

The returning fire caught him in his leg, and he flew over the edge roof of the Pentagon.

He hit the ground in all the wrong ways, and it was something of a surprise at all that he was still conscious.

A worried face swam in his vision, and when he recognized the black hair and green eyes, he felt his heart skip and stop.


	3. Welcome Home, Son

We Belonged

_And today I wake up feeling easy_

_And find I'm on the more familiar roads_

_I got a darkness wrapped inside me but now it ain't so hard to let it go_

_So keep your candle burning in the window_

_I'm almost home_

_-Pound of Flesh, Radical Face_

Steve was hot. His body's metabolism always ramped up during healing. His first thought was, _but when am I not healing these days_ and the second was _How am I alive?_ And the third: AM _I alive?_

The blanket was suffocating, but the complaint was stuck in his throat and he gave up.

In his dreams, which could very well be his afterlife, Loki sat at his side, occupying the chair that had always been meant for him. He looked exactly the same as Steve remembered him, a fond smile on his face.

"I dreamed you were dead," Steve told Loki. The god's face was caught in twilight, gold flickering in his emerald eyes.

"Oh?" Loki asked, a mischievous grin twitching his thin lips.

"It was terrible," Steve confided.

"Was it?"

"It was," Steve insisted. "I remembered a time when I couldn't imagine living with you for an eternity, but when you died, I couldn't think of a world without you. I'm sorry."

"Whatever for?"

"Because you died thinking I believed you betrayed me."

"I never believed that."

"Oh, good." Steve smiled.

The high screeching of a flat line filled Steve's ears, and Loki's face grew anxious. There was a flurry of movement around him, but Steve couldn't concern himself with it. He grabbed the cards Bucky had just dealt to him. Beside him, Jim was scooping his own cards into his hands.

Colonel Phillips loomed over them. "Gin Rummy? I don't approve."

"Aw, since when do you approve of anything, old man?" Dum Dum asked rhetorically, secreting his cards to his chest. "Don't look at my hand!" He accused the Colonel.

"Stark's all right, if you were worried," Bucky told him as he laid a book on the table.

"Natasha and Clint, too," Jim said as he laid his own cards to the table.

"You're shit at cards, Cap," Jaques accused. "Your hand's all over your face."

"I'm tired of cards," Steve said. "Too many secrets."

"Aw, shit, I lost again."

0o0o0o

Loki was a mainstay, always by his side when the Commandos or the Avengers weren't. (And even when they were.) Steve's muddy dreams were populated by the rotational visit of his teammates, and on his particular day, Thor was sitting at his beside, talking to the man who wasn't there. For the first time in recent memory, his face was stretched in a broad smile and his voice had reached the volume that Steve had almost forgotten—all declarations and ebullience. Steve told him, "Heaven shouldn't be this loud."

It startled Thor into silence and he looked at Steve quixotically. "Are we in Heaven?"

Steve hummed, Thor's voice sufficiently hushed. "Now we are."

0o0o0o

"For someone so small, you sure are hungry," his mother told him, and there were two pies on the counter, a platter of cookies and a glass of milk. His body was as frail as it had ever been, but it didn't bother him. He ate the cookies rapidly, hand over fist, before he set in on the pies.

"I'll be big one day," he promised.

"I know you will," she laughed.

And he smiled at her, gap teeth and all, and she smiled back.

His father came in and rested a warm hand on his shoulder. "We never expected anything less from you," he said.

0o0o0o0o

Natasha had a bandage wrapped around her skull, her hair sticking out at odd angles around it. She read a story from Grimm's Fairy Tales to him.

" _But at home the other brother was standing by the gold-lilies, when_

_one of them suddenly drooped. "Good heavens," said he, "my brother has_

_met with some great misfortune I must away to see if I can possibly_

_rescue him." Then the father said, "Stay here, if I lose you also,_

_what shall I do?" _

_But he answered, "I must and will go forth."_

_Then he mounted his golden horse, and rode forth and entered the great forest, where his brother lay turned to stone. The old witch came out of her house and called him, wishing to entrap him also, but he did not go near her, and said, "I will shoot you, if you will not bring my brother to life again." _

_She touched the stone, though very unwillingly, with her forefinger, and he was immediately restored to his human shape. And the two gold-children rejoiced when they saw each other again, kissed and caressed each other, and rode away together out of the forest the one home to his bride, and the other_

_to his father._

_ "The father then said, "I knew well that you had rescued your brother, for the golden lily suddenly rose up and blossomed out again.'_

_ "Then they lived happily, and they prospered until their death."_

"You're still beautiful," Steve told her.

She stopped reading, looking up in surprise. He could see the lines in her face, and the worry in her eyes, and he knew she would remain beautiful and distinguished as she aged.

"You always were. You always will be," he continued, when she said nothing.

0o0o0o0o

"Fishing is for the poor," his father told him, blue eyes icy and stern. They stood on the shores of a river.

"The look doesn't become you," Steve told him. His father paused, his face growing stony before it broke into an open smile.

"I never told you about my war," his father said.

"No, you didn't."

"Fish, and I will."

Steve cast a line, and listened to all the stories his father had failed to tell him in life.

0o0o0o0o

Bruce was silent as a statue. He'd pulled up a chair beside Loki, and Steve thought it was considerate to pay mind to the Man Who Wasn't There. A well-worn book was splayed across his knee, and he worried a pen in his mouth between marking lines and annotating notes in the stanzas of the pages.

"What are you reading?"

Bruce looked up, startled. "You're awake," he said with brows raised.

"What month is it?" Steve asked.

"February."

"I was never a child of winter," he said.

"Hey, wait-" Bruce began.

But Steve was all of five, catching fireflies in a mason jar that he dutifully brought back to his mother. He was tired from a day of fishing, and his mother set the glowing jar at his bedside.

When he awoke, he found she'd set them all free, and knew it was just as well: fireflies weren't meant to live in glass jars.

0o0o0o0o

They were enjoying leave in London, before they went back into Germany. Most of the Howling Commandos had headed off for the evening with a girl on their arm, but Dum Dum was still trying. Finally, he gave up, settling beside Steve.

"I don't get it, Sir. We're the best looking men in the joint."

"Do you know, I was surrounded by scores of women during my PR days?"

"Really?" Dum Dum leered.

"Really," Steve confided, leaning in close as if to tell a secret. "Do you know what they said?" Dum Dum leaned in.

"What's that?"

"That they'd rather go home with the ugly ones, because they knew they wouldn't leave them."

Dum Dum tilted his head back and laughed.

"I've missed you, sir."

"I never went anywhere."

"No," Dum Dum agreed, "I guess it's we who left _you_."

0o0o0o0o

Clint had taken to carving and inspecting his arrows at Steve's side. Occasionally, he'd asked if they were straight enough, sure enough to travel to their intended designation.

He had a bandage, stained red, even now, wrapped around his chest. Steve gathered it had been some time since the battle, as the wind that blew through the open windows was now tinged with warmth and the promise of better days to follow.

"The Doc's say you've sustained a hell of an injury," Clint began, in the way of one who had become accustomed used to speaking to someone that responded little, if at all. They don't know why, the wound in your back flared and they're not sure how to treat it."

Loki looked at the ceiling, and Steve grinned, but Clint didn't notice.

"Anyway," Clint continued. "I'm not sure if this arrow is straight enough? I've always been concerned. What if they weren't good enough? We almost lost the battle."

"They've always been good enough," Steve wanted to say. Clint didn't hear him.

Loki gave him a knowing look.

0o0o0o0o0o

They were all of eight, and the swimming hole they found in a lazy turn of the Hudson was both magical and brilliant. Silver fish flittered beneath the surface, and they found an ancient bullfrog in the shade of a rock. It honked at them angrily before diving into the cool depths, but before they could chase it, Bucky found a flat rock and they took turns seeing who could skip the furthest.

Bucky's father was giving a lecture at West Point, but the boys had found it tedious, and when he'd grown tired of their fidgeting, he'd allowed them to make of themselves what they would.

Steve watched as Bucky launched at the rope hanging from an old Sycamore, swinging once before he plunged into the cool depths of the river. He dove as deep as he could before surfacing. Because he knew his best friend could not going on his expeditions with him, he told Steve there wasn't much to be found below the surface, anyway.

He swam back to Steve in great strokes, the clear water splashing around him. Startled silver fish swam darted away, flashing briefly in the sunlight before disappearing beneath the river.

"We will miss these days," Bucky swore as he treaded water. Steve tossed a flat stone at him. It skipped several times before sinking.

"I know," Steve said.

"No one who is young will ever grow old," Bucky said, his eyes too old for his face.

"We did," Steve sighed.

0o0o0o0o

Tony was puttering around with some device. What it was, Steve couldn't guess, and even if Stark explained it to him, Steve was sure he wouldn't know what it all meant. But looking at him now, he realized just how old Tony looked, crows feet lined his eyes and the gray at this temples had begun an offensive on the rest of his hair. The arc reactor in his chest glowed blue against a black undershirt.

Steve wondered when time had gotten away from them.

"Pepper says it looks it makes me look 'distinguished,'" Tony confided.

"It does," Steve said.

But Tony didn't hear him. Instead, he continued. "I hated you for a long time, because you were the man my father compared me to at every turn."

Steve wasn't surprised by the news, but he _was_ surprised by Tony's admission. He'd long suspected that a lot of their early verbal battles had stemmed from an unnamed jealousy, and as to why, he'd never quite pieced that together until the day Pepper had taken him aside and told him of Howard's life-long search for Steve's body and the missed birthdays and holidays in consequence.

His heart had ached at the news, but Pepper had sworn him to secrecy, and he didn't know how to breech the subject without betraying her trust.

"But you were worth his admiration. You are the leader I could never hope to be. I inherited too much of his selfishness. I was never worthy in Howard's eyes. I was too much like him and not enough like you. I spent my whole life trying to prove myself. I hated you when you came back. He looked for you every goddamned day until the day he died. I was glad you came back without him knowing.

"But now, I've never felt so much regret. I wish he could've lived to see your return. You are everything he said you were."

"He'd be proud of you," Steve swore.

Tony looked shocked.

0o0o0o0o

They were on the training field Steve knew well, the last obstacle looming before him.

He attacked the rope climb, his arms shaking, his legs not much better.

He couldn't make it, he was sure of it.

"Come on, Soldier!" And Peggy's curt voice cut in, past his doubts. He glanced down. Her red lips were quirked in a smiled, her dark eyes bright. The rest of his platoon had already made it over the wall, but she only had eyes for him.

"I'm not sure I can," he whispered to himself as he reached the next rung, his grip weak. He could see his fist shaking, threatening to loosen.

"Goddammit, get over the Goddamn wall!" And that was Colonel Phillips, fierce as ever. A Lifer, if he'd ever seen one.

The log loomed above him. All Steve had to do was wrap his legs over it and he'd be done. Gravity could handle the rest.

"I don't put stock into failures!" Phillips said, but it was Peggy's dark brown eyes that urged him on.

Steve swept his legs over the wall, his feet finding purchase on the far side. He managed to catch Peggy's wide grin before he fell.

"Aw-" Steve began.

0o0o0o0o0o

Loki's legs were crossed, delicate hands turning the pages of his book, his pale face vivid in the spring sun. A warm wind blew in from the west through the cracked window, promising warmth and life. The chimes Steve had set up several years ago sung softly in the evening wind.

Steve stared at Loki a long time, his head bowed, green eyes reflecting the glow of the sun. There was gold in the emerald that Steve had never noticed before.

Eventually, Loki glanced up as he turned a page. Steve could see it had grown to be a matter of habit and Loki'd almost looked back down before his eyes froze, meeting Steve's.

"Are you staying this time?" Loki asked shortly.

"I think so," Steve said, shifting to a sitting position. None of his wounds hurt-not even his back-but his unused muscles complained from the motion.

"It's been long enough," Loki complained, but his eyes were bright.

"You died," Steve accused.

"So did you," Loki closed his book, marking his pages with a curled page.

"How long have I been out?"

"We feared you wouldn't wake," Loki said carefully. And it was _we_ not _I_, but Steve knew what he meant.

"I'm not that easy to take out," he said.

"No," And for the first time Steve could remember, Loki gave him an unbridled smile. "I don't suppose you are. Welcome home, Steve Rogers."

End

. /~ 

Grimm's Fairy Tales


End file.
